A Spark of Madness
by WastedDreams
Summary: He wondered who was the dim-witted doctor bold enough to attempt analyzing him. The Joker also wondered, however, how long it would take for him to break this dear new shrink of his. Joker/Harley Quinn. Nolanverse.


_**Author's Note**: Hello dear readers! _

_I've decided to create a little writing challenge for myself – which is pretty much what this is. Now I've never written with limitations before, so this is new, and I'm not particularly good at explaining psycho love (though I try my best). So bear with me and please feel free to leave suggestions, comments or simply just favorite or follow._

_This challenge consists on a single limiting rule: 600 words per chapter, no more, no less._

_Enjoy the first chapter!_

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**Chapter One**

_**No Time for Joking**_

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"_When your will is broken when it slips from your hand, when there's no time for joking, there's a hole in the plan. You don't mean nothing at all to me – but you've got what it takes to set me free. You could mean everything to me."_

**-Say It Right: Nelly Furtado-**

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Time had become inexistent. Days came and went, seasons changed. No matter the hour or the moment, the feeling guarding itself securely in the padded cell remained. The air was stiff, as always. The walls were white: plain and dull. Silence was the predominant presence in his head. A person could truly lose their mind here.

The Joker wasn't sure how many months he'd spent in solitary confinement. The reality Batman had launched him in was beginning to eat away at him. His cheery self had been placed in as background noise to be replaced by a quiet, strange man. His war paint was confiscated long ago, and with it went his hopes for an escape. The nothingness he was submitted to tore him away from human contact. Not even the guard that fed him three times a day possessed a face. He was a blank. A spare card.

When the Joker was brought to Arkham Asylum, he was certain he'd receive some kind of medical attention. His strange behavior was quite interesting in the public eye; figuring him out – or rather, _trying_ – was something they'd attempt obtaining. Or at least, that's what he believed until Arkham's staff shoved him into this same cell, never to see the Gotham again. He received no word, no light and no company: just him, the puffy walls and a straightjacket.

At first, he took it like a joke. The clown laughed, aware that it anyone could get out of this situation, it was him. Until one day, he realized no one could hear him. And that was it.

With no one to manipulate, the Joker felt his life crumbling under his toes and this time he was sure he wouldn't escape. He awaited a slow and painful death that would never be delivered.

He decided that Batman knew how to treat his enemies.

After months –possibly, probably – of the same stillness, he received news. Very good news.

According to the note that someone – again, faceless to him – slipped into his room, a doctor had agreed to take his case and try to _cure _him of his mental illness. This daring doctor was a fool, because the Joker possessed no form of mental disorder: he was perfectly stable, after all. The Joker just saw things in a different light – _a better light_ – than everyone else. He was ahead of the curve.

Then realization hit the back of his head like a big, yellow boulder and caused a smile to spread across his scarred face.

It took months for anyone to take on the Joker. Months for any doctor to peek at his file and study him. His silent torture wasn't at all meant to be that way – at least, not intentionally. No, no, he hadn't heard or seen another human being for one small and powerful reason: fear. The doctors were _afraid _of him.

Then he laughed; hoarse from disuse but still potent. Even in his secluded, hushed cage, he could instill fear. So, in the end, his plan had worked. Partially, that is, for he was still trapped in the mental facility.

He'd turned Gotham into a chicken den and he was the big bad wolf coming to devour his tiny, insignificant prey. The public didn't need a face; his mere name chilled their bones.

He wondered who was the dim-witted doctor bold enough to attempt analyzing him. The Joker also wondered, however, how long it would take for him to break this dear new shrink of his.

At the thought, he chuckled once, subconsciously counting down the days until his freedom arrived.


End file.
